


In Your Shoes

by Oneringtorulethemall



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AUish, Case Fic, Disorders, I have no idea what I am doing but this is what happened, Medication, My experiment, POV Second Person, Panic Attacks, angst lots of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:17:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2369036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oneringtorulethemall/pseuds/Oneringtorulethemall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my experiment fic that is going to be all in second person. You are stepping into a college girls shoes to follow her journey through life. Which just happens to include the Winchesters. Comments and criticism welcomed!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

                You walk through the halls in the English Building and you can sense the distress permeating off of the students around you. Another professor is dead. This time it was Professor Dumain, he teaches—taught—your Psychology 101 class. His class was boring, it was one of those classes students took because they needed the credit. No one wanted to be there, and Prof. Dumain knew that so he just gave you book work mostly, which made the class even worse than it already was. He was found in his office with his neck snapped and multiple stab wounds in his stomach. Just like Professor June, your Calculus 1010 teacher, and Professor Hamilton your English 102 teacher. The female students found in their offices at the same time as the professors were all in the ICU due to severe blood loss from the cuts to their abdomen.

                Half of the students and teachers were on ‘vacation’ now to escape the deaths and the heavy atmosphere that hung around the campus. The other half were scared that they would be next but still stayed for one reason or another. You were part of the second half. The fear was palpable on campus. That was until the FBI agents showed up. The whole campus of Tosaigh University seemed to exhale all together thinking that finally things would be back to normal. That was until the special agents started questioning the students and staff about the incidents. People were more hesitant to answer the door now, as they were checking to make sure you were not a Fed before they opened their door. When the agents walked around the campus the crowds seemed to split like the Red Sea and avoided them like the plague. No one wanted to talk about the incidents, they just wanted to go on living their daily lives without any other care than finals in a month.

                At first you think the knock on the door is strange. No one ever comes to visit you. You live off campus in a house built in the early 1900’s that hasn’t changed since the day it was built. A gift from your distant parents. The floor creaks as you walk up to the door and peek out through the mail slot. You are met with an eye looking back at you and you scream and jump backwards. After the shock wears off and your breathing returns to normal you open the door to see the Federal agents that have been on the prowl around the University on your door step.

                “Ma’am we would like to ask you a few questions, if that is ok?” The taller one politely asked. He had long hair, that I doubted was to code with the FBI dress standard, and was a good four or five inches over six foot. The agents flashed their badges and you glanced at the other man. He was shorter with bright green eyes and a Ken-doll face. They seem to be in their late twenties, maybe early thirties but you can’t tell exactly.

                “S-sure co-come in” you stutter out, cursing your inability to talk to other people without it lately.

                You open the door wider and the men slip in. You lead them into your modest living room with one couch and a TV resting on a rusty end table, clearing off the old couch of the blankets and junk food that usually clutters the space. You shyly blush and mutter something about the room being ‘such a mess’ and ‘not usually like this.’ The agents sit on the couch as you pull out a chair from the dining room and introduce themselves as Agent Ford and Agent Hamil. The tall one being Hamil and the shorter one being Ford. Their questions were innocent at first. Did you know the victims? Did you know the girls? But then they soon became weird when Agent Hamil asked if I had seen any flickering lights or smelled any sulfur around campus? When you admitted that the lights in the hallways would sometimes go out the men shared a look that you couldn’t interpret.

                After another couple of questions the Agents excused themselves and you led them out of the house. You sighed and were grateful to have them gone. You go back to the living room and arrange the clutter the way it was and turn on the TV to lose yourself in the fictional lives of those on the screen and escape the death that loomed over you.

During the week the agents come back to your house 3 times with different questions relating to the case. The questions slightly change every time but the fact that they keep coming back puts you on edge. You can feel the change in your bone and you don’t know if it is good or bad, or maybe it is both.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s late at night and you are half-asleep on the couch with NCIS playing quietly in the back ground. The lights are all off so shadows loom over the room. Your eyelids droop to relieve your tired, stinging eyes, and the world loses focus and soon goes black. As you are nodding off half dreaming of witches, wizards, and the lunch you ate, the pounding on the door slices the silence. You jolt out of sleep falling off of the worn out couch and onto the carpet. You and dismiss the knock, justifying not getting up with the logic that, if they really needed you they would call you or come back later. Your body relaxes again and you snuggle into the giant fluffy blanket with a kitten posing in a shoe that is wrapped around yourself.

                As you are drifting back to unconsciousness you hear a slight rattling sound that echoes above the noise of the TV. At first you dismiss the clamor, thinking it is just a mouse scampering in the cupboards in your antique kitchen, but then it gets louder and you snap your eyes open to dart around the room. You see the doorknob on your front door shaking and your mind goes blank. Your body immediately propels into action jumping off of the couch, although your mind is still processing the information. You can feel the panic creeping along the edges of your mind as you ease your way over to the kitchen, so you can run to your room and hope the person outside will go away. You grab the knife conveniently on the counter, left there after you used it to cut open your mail, and walk backwards down the hall to your room. The shadows cast by the picture hanging in the hall are no longer are familiar, they are dangerous and terrifying. With adrenaline coursing through your veins you start to sweat as you close your bedroom door and your hand slips across the cold door handle. You lock the doorknob and run to your tiny closet in the corner of your room half hidden behind dirty clothes and shoes. You almost trip over the backpack that was haphazardly thrown in the corner just that morning as you dash for the sliding door. You push the door closed and stand stock still barely breathing while your hand holding the tiny steak knife shakes with fear.

                You can hear the creaking of the floor boards in your house as the intruders step through the threshold. They must have opened the door while you were retreating to your hiding place because you didn’t even hear the sound of the great wooden door creaking on its hinges. Later you would look back and curse yourself for not grabbing your phone from the couch that was sitting right next to you, but for now all you can think about is the squeak of the floor boards. Scenarios start to play out in your head, knives, blood, torture, pain, and most ending with you dead or gravely injured. One in particular seems to stick out, the one where you end up in the ICU with the rest of the girls from the University half of your blood gone and strange slices into your abdomen.

                The squeaking progressively gets louder and you can detect the rustling of papers and the shifting of furniture. The intruder, or is it intruders, is looking for something, or someone. Your hands go clammy and the familiar panic that has been pacing in the back of your mind is coming back in full force. Your fingers and toes go numb and your grip on the pathetic knife goes slack, your breathing is labored and you can’t seem to gasp in enough oxygen. Your head feels lighter than it should be making your vision go white in some spots, and the only thing running through your mind is ‘I am going to die’. You are going to die and no one will care. You are going to die and stay in this house until the neighbor starts to notice your stink seeping through the walls. You are going to die and you won’t even mind being gone.

                 You can hear the door handle of your room start to shake. Your breathing becomes erratic and you are pretty sure people around the world can hear your heart beating out of your chest. The door squeals open and you can hear footsteps. The shuffling of items starts up again and the footsteps come closer and closer to you. There is murmuring that you can’t decipher over the pounding of blood in your ears. Your gut twists with nausea and your whole body shakes. You can feel your legs start to lock up as they get ready to drop your weight in self-defense. You are so caught up in the feeling of panic and dread that you almost miss the sound of the closet door sliding open. And everything goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I might have done quite a but of research on anxiety, panic attacks and depression and the medications that apply but I personally have no such experience so if anything I write is wrong please correct me, but also keep in mind that everyone is different and their experiences are different. Please comment and give criticism I know I need it. Thank you!!

You wake to screaming a sharp note in the cold air, and a sore throat. It takes you a minute to realize the shrill pitch is coming from your own mouth. Your noise cuts out and you are left to assess the damage of the night in silence. The nightmare you had was the most realistic you have ever had in your entire life, rivaling the one where you could feel the heat of a gun against your temple. You can feel the cold sweat like a thin layer encasing your body. As your mind starts to process information around you again, you realize you are very cold. You look down you see that you aren’t snuggled in your giant pink comforter like every other morning, instead you are on top of the covers. Your pajamas are missing and instead you are dressed in the leggings and long sweater that you had on yesterday.

                The switch in your mind flips on, and you realize that last night wasn’t a dream. The sudden realization leaves you breathless and you can feel the panic enclosing around your body like a thick black fog. You try to breath, in, out, in, out. After five minutes of darkness the heavy cloud dissipates and you are able to actually get out of bed. At first you feel the strong urge to call someone tell someone what happened. But then you remember that no one will care. You have no friends on campus or back home. Your siblings never talk to you anymore with you being the youngest and the gap between you and your older brother is an overwhelming seven years. Your parents won’t care, they never cared for anything other than the amount of money in their pockets. After determining that there is no use in telling anyone anything you cautiously walk out of your room down the long hall leading to the kitchen. Your eyes dart to every corner, every shadow, and every creak of the wood holding your house together. You meticulously go through every room in the house and you find that the intruders didn’t take anything, sure some things may be moved but nothing is gone. You heave an audible sigh and warily make your way back to your room.

                As you step through the open doorway your alarm to get up and get ready for school goes off breaking the still silence. You trudge to the living room following the sound of “Do I Wanna Know” by Arctic Monkeys blaring on your phone’s half dead speakers. After sorting through the mass of blankets you fish out your phone and clutch it to your chest. You decide for normalcy and start to get into your morning ritual. Twenty minutes to pick out clothes that end up being just a pair of comfortable jeans and a superman tee-shirt. Five minutes to grab the pill organizer out from the cabinet and swallow down, Celexa, Orvaten, Ativan, and a small dose of Xanax just to be able to function throughout the day. Thirty minutes to brush your teeth, apply acne medication, and touch up your tear streaked face with make-up. Ten minutes to try to do your hair and then fail, ultimately ending in a messy bun thrown on the top of your head. The pills start to kick in and you feel somewhat back to normal relief flooding your veins.

                The alarm on your phone goes off again, this time it is “Bloodstream” by Ed Sheeran, to tell you to head out to your American Lit. Class. Cautiously you unlock your front door and fast walk to your car parked in the drive way after locking up. You are aware of everything in your surroundings just in case, just so that this time you will see in coming, whatever it is.


	4. Chapter 4

All throughout school you would flinch at every sound, every quick movement. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Your senses were hyper alert. Lights were too bright, shadows too dark, textures too rough, sounds too loud. When one of your classmates phones went off during a lecture you jumped at least a foot in the air and that earned you even more weird looks than you usually get. This continued through your two classes and work that night.

                It was ten o’clock at night when you finally got home. You slammed your old car’s door and ran through the suffocating darkness to the relative safety of your house. Quickly finding the house key and rushing through the door. You slam it and double lock it. Still wary you carefully go to every room of your house and flip on every light expelling the shadows, inspecting every inch. When you come to the hallway you remember, you have a .25 caliber pistol in a gun safe that your dad bought you, before your parents figured out the joys of retiring early, in the hallway closet. You and your siblings would get taken out to the desert outside of the city when you were young and your dad would teach you to shoot his collection of guns. Generally your sister didn’t come with but your brothers and you loved it. You wished you would have remembered the gun last night, it would’ve come in handy. You stand on your tip toes in your hallway closet and inch the box off of the top shelf. You have to dig through your dresser drawers to find the key but you eventually find it and you set the gun on the counter. Having it out in the open, you feel a little calmer.

                While you are staring at the gun a piece of paper catches your eye. The business card from the FBI tossed to the edge of the counter. You’re not sure if a break-in is within their jurisdiction or if they will even care but your body moves faster than your mind can talk you out of it. Suddenly you are on your phone and you hear a man’s voice on the other side of the line.

“Hello” he says, you’re not sure which agent it is but you are relieved they even answered.

“Hi, I was wondering if you could help me” you squeak out and you curse yourself for sounding so pathetic.

“Of course what is the problem” the man answers quickly. At first you’re shocked at how fast he reacted but after a moment of stunned silence you tell the special agent about the break-in last night and he is hesitant at first but he eventually agrees for him and his partner to come over tomorrow to talk to you. That night you fall asleep with your head in a book in your living room with your gun resting on the coffee table.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

                The next day the FBI agent knock on your door a little after lunch. You move the heavy box from the front of the door, unwrap your lock contraption made of rope from your garage, and unlock the deadbolt and the handle. The agents step in after your weak little nod to them on your porch. They make themselves at home on your couch and you pull up a chair from the dining room. They ask you questions about their case first, pretty much the same ones form last time, then they ask you questions about the break-in the other night. Your voice is shaky and your stutter is in full force but you recount the events of that night and they sit and listen. When you are done your throat is dry and you offer the men something to drink, Agent Hamil wants water and Agent Ford suggested beer until his partner elbowed him and he changed to water also. As you were filling up the glasses of water you could hear the two men mumbling through the paper thin walls.

“Man now I feel bad” agent Ford muttered.

“Me too, we scared the crap out of the poor girl the other night, and now she wants us to find the guys the broke in” Hamil answered.

“I know, that is going to be hard since it was us.” Your body goes numb. Everything clicks in your head, the pity in their eyes, and the half-assed questions about that night. They don’t care about your answers because they already know who it was, because they were there.

Your eyes flash to your handgun that you had left on the counter, out of sight of the agents because you didn’t want to get in trouble. Your hands are suddenly putting down the glasses gently as to not make a sound and wrap themselves around the gun. You hold up the gun in the familiar position and you slowly go through the entry of the kitchen and to the living room. Agent Hamil is the first one to see you with your gun. His eyebrows shoot up and he hits his partner. “Dean” he calls getting the attention of the other man as his hands travel up wards in a sign of peace.

“What are you doing?” The man that you now know is Dean asks.

“Who are you people and what do you want with me?” you ask.

 “We don’t know what you are talking about. Just put the gun down and we can talk” Hamil says, you doubt that is his name now but you have nothing else to go off of.

“I want answers” you reply, all trace of a stutter gone and replaced with confidence you have never felt before. “Who are you and what were you doing in my house the other night.”

“OK let’s put down the gun and me and Sam will explain everything, but I need to know you aren’t going to hurt us.” Dean tells you. You lower the gun a little, surprised that he is the one who thinks he is going to be hurt. For all you know these men could be the same ones killing your professors and they have developed some elaborate cover up.

“I will listen but I keep the gun in my hands just in case you guys try anything.” You declare.

“Fine” Dean agrees and you slowly make your way back over to the chair you were sitting in before the shit hit the fan.

Sam starts out he explains that the two are brothers and that they fight monsters for a living. You scoff and raise the gun again claiming that they are psychos. Dean interrupts and reasons that they are fighting the monster that is killing your professors and that no human could have killed those men. The more Dean talks the more you listen and after an hour of you listening you start to believe the crap that they are spewing. At the end of two hours of you listening and asking questions. You end up with the gun on the floor and your favorite throw pillow in your lap with the rest of your body curled around it. Your confidence seemed to have drained away and left the same broken girl from this morning in its place. You tell the boys you believe them and give them your word to not tell a soul, who would you tell anyways? And you stutter out that they should leave and for them to see themselves out. You spend the rest of the day curled around that pillow, staring at the black TV and letting all of the new information of the real world stew in your brain.


	5. Chapter 5

The day after the visit from Sam and Dean you decide that school would be too stressful and plop yourself down in front of the TV. The day is spent watching re-runs, binging on Netflix and popcorn with extra butter.

You are wrapped tight in two layers of blankets and the gun that you had out yesterday is sitting against your hip. You haven’t been without it since the hunters left. You even left it on the toilet next to the shower while you were taking a bath to calm your nerves. The gun is comforting like a safety blanket, you feel more powerful with it by your side knowing that if things go south you can put a bullet in your attacker.

Late that night you wake up on the couch in a cold sweat. Your eyes flick to the door and then to the window in front of you. Your hands are shaking and you can feel nausea creeping up the back of your throat. As you frantically move your hands around the mass of blankets you are laying in to find a place to push yourself up off the couch your hand brushes something hard and heavy. The warm metal of the gun tames your shaking hands as you pick it up and put it in your lap the weight of it already calming you down. You stare at it for a moment and you don’t know exactly when it happened but your nausea is gone. Your breathing returns to normal and it is as if you didn’t have the panic attack at all, except for the sticky feeling of sweat.

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The next morning you get up and get ready for school. Although you could get away with missing one day of school, two would be a nightmare trying to make up. Besides you had work this afternoon and your boss wouldn’t be too happy if you called in sick again. You throw on some socially acceptable sweats, a hoodie, and your favorite worn out Ugg boots, popping in your pills as you rush out the door.

Classed today were boring and you zoned out for most of the lectures staring at the clock waiting for the chance to leave. After your classes for the day you decide to head over to your Physics Professor to talk to him about the class you missed the previous day and to get help on a report that was due soon. You trudged your way up to the Science Building and walked up the stairs to Professor Smith’s 4th story office. You checked in with his TA to see if he was available today, he usually was but the Professor was flaky most of the time. You wandered over to the empty bench situated outside of the office and waited.

About twenty minutes later another student walked out of the office and Prof. Smith waived you in. You explained to him that you had been sick yesterday and he summarized the class that you missed, talking for a good half an hour, randomly going into tangents about trouble making students and the wonders of Physics, every couple of minutes.

After that was over with you asked him for help on your report that you were struggling with. You and the professor spent about twenty minutes looking over your rough draft and correcting mistakes before the lights in the office cut out. The room went cold and you could hear a scratching sound coming from the walls. Your mind froze, hadn’t Sam and Dean said something about cold spots. For the life of you, you could not remember what they had told you cold spots and scratching meant, but you knew for sure that it wasn’t good. You could hear the professor get out of his old leather chair and shuffle over to the light switch to turn the light on. While he was moving across the office you heard a gurgling sounded like a backed up pipe. Then a sharp, distinct crunch. You could hear the moment the professor dropped to the floor and the moment after when his throat was ripped from him before he could even scream.

You could hear the professor choking on his blood and you couldn’t move. Couldn’t scream. Couldn’t even blink. The next thing you know your body is being thrown across the room by something invisible. Your head hits the wall and you feel the pictures that were previously hanging topple on top of you and slice into your arm. Now your vocal chords decide to work but all you can get out is a pathetic whimper before there is a flash of pain ripping through your body. And everything goes white.


	6. Chapter 6

In the distance you hear a faint steady beeping noise that slowly pulls you from the liquid darkness that holds you under. Consciousness eases its way into your mind and your brain starts to turn on piece by piece. You first thought is ‘crap I need to get to school’ then ‘what time is it?’ but by the time you open your eyes your thought process changes to ‘where am I?’. You twitch your fingers and suck in a deep breath, which comes out as a string of coughs that wrack your whole body. Your throat is sandpaper dry and your muscles strain at the sudden movement, your stomach especially, flaring up in pain. The light from the florescent bulbs on the ceiling stings your eyes, and tears well up in them to counter act the pain. By now you have figured out, you’re in a hospital. Great.

Little by little you gain control of your body. You turn your head to the side and spy a pitcher of water and glasses. By the time your throat stops itching half of the pitcher is drained and you can finally sit up, albeit uncomfortably. A few moments after you are situated a nurse walks in. Her bright red hair making her stand out in the bleak white of the room. Her face is nice and open but the medical terms spewing out of her mouth just make your head hurt and you slip off to sleep, sitting up, with long explanations going in one ear and out the other.

The next time you wake up a pair of familiar faces greet you. “Hey you, finally decide to greet the world of the living?” Dean comments as you bring your hands up to rub your tired eyes.

“What are you two doing here?” you ask looking from Sam to Dean and back.

“We came to talk to you about what happened” Sam replies pity shining in his eyes. You absolutely hate that look. The familiar feelings of uselessness and helplessness creep up the back of your spine.

“I just woke up, I don’t even know what happened myself” you snap at Sam, he cringes at the hostility.

“How about we start with what you remember last” Dean counters defensively. His stance shifts from friendly to protective.

“Let’s see, I remember going to school and my lectures and then I remember…” a wave rolled over you and you saw the events that led to your hospitalization clearly. The tutoring, the death of Prof. Smith and then the pain. Your breathing accelerates and your throat closes up. Your vision blacking out in spots. Faintly you can hear the hunters panicking along with you as they try to calm you down. After a couple minutes of hyperventilating you slow your breathing down to a normal pace and you can see the boys physically relax.

“I remember Prof. Smith dying, and the blood, the darkness, and then hitting the wall.” You could feel a tear roll down your face as you murmured the words more to yourself than to the two men by your hospital bed. “What killed the Professor?” you ask not even sure you want to know the answer.

“Well we have a theory…” starts Dean but he is quieted by Sam hissing his name under his breath. “She has the right to know Sam” Dean replies. His explanation is soft as if it is supposed to be comforting, “We think that it is a spirit, the ghost of Edward Halsy a student at this college in the 50’s. Before he died he caught his wife cheating on him with one of the professors. He ripped the professor’s throat out and cut into his wife’s stomach until she bled to death. We think that his spirit is back because his grave was robbed and his wedding ring was stolen a couple of weeks ago.”

It takes you a minute to process the information but when you do the first thing that comes out of your mouth is, “Why am I not dead?”

Sam answers that one. “We were staking out the office building and saw the lights go out in the professor’s office.”

“Thank you” you reply under your breath, but Sam seems to have heard you and nods his head in acknowledgement.

“We need to ask you one more thing and then we will leave you alone.” Dean interjects and you switch your gaze from Sam to Dean’s deep green eyes. “This is a picture of the wedding ring, have you seen it?” You stare at the picture for a moment and shake your head. “No” you whisper.

The boys turned to leave Sam giving you one last glance before he slipped out the door with Dean. The thing is, you do know that ring. Sally Louis was bragging about it the other day in the coffee shop. Babbling about how her boyfriend of two years finally proposed to her and bought her a ring, even though he was tight on money. You bet that he went and stole that ring just so he didn’t have to pay for an expensive ring. This time you won’t be useless, this time you will help yourself instead of being the weeping damsel in distress.

               

* * *

You call the nurse and you demand that they release you. The red headed nurse and a doctor that joined the group protest but they reluctantly comply after a heated argument. You have stitches on your stomach and the doctor informs you that they will leave some nasty scars, he then tells you how to take care of the stitches and the nurse comes in with the paper work.

The trek to the bus is a feat in itself but you make it on and ride the bus back to your house. Once you are enveloped in the familiarity of your house the pain of walking has dulled thanks to the nifty pain pills the hospital provided you before you left. You change your clothes from the old ones that you had on before the event with the rabid ghost. Thankfully your jacket was not damaged and you could cover up the shredded shirt. You change into a soft cotton T-shirt with ‘Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles’ boldly covering the front and a pair of nice sweatpants.

Grabbing your car keys off of the counter you start over to the dorm that you know Sally Louis lives in. Knocking on the door you can feel the adrenaline rush flood your veins. When she opens the door you kindly explain that you need to borrow her ring because you told your mom that you were engaged and don’t have a fake ring. She agreed, being the nice girl that she is, and handed over the ring easily, telling you that she needed it back as soon as you were done. As soon as the door closes you release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The high of the adrenaline lingering underneath your skin.

You rush home dropping the haunted ring on your coffee table in the living room. You realize that you have no idea what to do next. You are almost tempted to call the Winchester brothers to ask them but you shake your head at the thought. You are doing this because you don’t want to be saved, you don’t need help. You pull out your laptop and start to search the web. After an hour of endless searches you come across a website hosted by a group called the ‘Ghostfacers’ who seem to know what they are doing. Their tutorial explains that you have to salt and burn the object that the spirit is attached to and that iron repels ghosts. Might as well try it.

You grab the ring off of the table and head over to your kitchen pulling down the tub of salt that you use to refill you table shaker and the iron fire poker by your fire place. You pour some salt on the ring and the hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up. The air in the room drops, you clench the poker in your hand so tight that your knuckles turn white as you turn around. Standing in the middle of the kitchen is a figure that flickers in and out like an old movie. His clothes are covered in blood and there is blood running down his face from is grease black hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes are red and grow brighter as he brings up his hand. Your body moves for you and you lurch forward swinging the poker through the ghost and he dissipates.

You turn back to the ring and try to light your gas stove but the spark won’t catch. After numerous tries the fire lights, but not before you feel eyes on you again. This time the ghost is closer and your body doesn’t react as fast as last time you feel a slashing pain on the back of your legs and the warm wet of blood. You can feel your weight buckling and your legs give out, but not before you drop the ring in the fire. You hear the scream of the spirit and the kitchen lights up as the ghost goes up in flames. You did it. You are not helpless, you can be useful.

Despite the pain throbbing from the two slashes on the back of your legs you pull yourself up and half crawl half limp over to your kitchen and the first-aid kit underneath the sink. You clean the wounds and determine that they don’t need stiches just gauze and disinfectant. You treat your injuries and then limp-crawl to your bed and fade into unconsciousness.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day you aren’t able to get out of bed in the morning. Your legs protesting greatly as you try to walk to the bathroom for your morning routine. Eventually you make it to the shower, but this however is the real challenge. In the end, you end up sitting in the bottom of the bathtub with the shower running as you scrub off the left over blood from yesterday. After your shower you redress your wounds and throw on your favorite pajamas. Grabbing a bag of chips on your way to the comfort of your living room couch.

As you sit down the reality of what you did yesterday hits you. You killed a ghost. You did something all by yourself. You stood up for yourself for the first time in your whole life. And it felt good, intoxicating even. Pride and a sense of accomplishment wash over you. This is the happiest you have ever been in your whole life. Even though you could have died, and the trace of fear was tingling in the back of your mind. But you did it, against the odds.

That high lasted all day and grew when the Winchester brothers stopped by. Immediately Sam noticed the change in your demeanor.

“What happened to make you so happy?” he asked, skeptical at first.

“You will never guess what I did,” you reply the pride and glee seeping through your teeth, “I killed the ghost.” This took the boys by surprise at first. Their eyes widening and Dean blinking in disbelief.

“Yeah sure kiddo” Dean finally retorts. Sam shakes his head trying to wrap his head around what you told them.

“I am being serious,” you insisted, “I have proof if you want it.” You start walking over to your kitchen that you still hadn’t cleaned. The pain in your legs flaring up for a moment making your face scrunch in pain. You lean the brothers over to the stovetop where the melted ring still coats the burner, the iron poker laying on the ground. The blood from your legs still stains the linoleum. Proud you watch the hunters for their reactions. Which at first are shocked but slowly turn to something that resembled respect with a touch of the same pride that was oozing out of your every pore.

“I have to say that is pretty impressive. I didn’t know you had that in you.” Sam praised, Dean nodding along with his sentiments. “Thank you,” he continued.

“You’re welcome, I guess” you mutter in reply not knowing what to say. After that the boys ask for more details and you eagerly recall everything to them like a child, wildly gesturing with your hands. After they get the story they turn to walk out of the house but not before Dean leaves the warning that you cannot under any circumstances continue down this path. At the time you agreed with him and swore that you would continue to study to become the plain English teacher that you came to this town to become.

At first you really tried to keep your promise, but it became too tempting and you had to know more. So you started researching. You looked up Greek gods, vampires, werewolves, demons, angels, anything that would even remotely be considered supernatural. After you exhausted all of your resources you started to look for cases, like the ones the boys described when they were explaining to you the job of hunters. And that was as far as you got for a couple months. It was enough to know that they were there. But then the itch for more became even more insistent. And you mustered the courage to go to a town that was having multiple disappearances in that month. You went into a run-down motel and was content with knowing that you were in close proximity to a case, the adrenaline coursed through your veins. Then it was interviews, a witness here a family member there. It then escalated to a small salt and burn. Then a vampire. A shifter here, a lone werewolf there. Even a family of ghouls. Gradually it started escalating, the need for a high, an adrenaline boost that only seemed to come from putting your life on the edge of a knife.

After six months of trying to balance your new addiction with school you dropped out. Who needed to be a stupid English teacher when you could be saving lives by hunting? You put your little house on campus up for sale without your parents knowing. They wouldn’t care anyways. It sold quickly so you packed all of your necessary possessions in your beat up car and drove off.


	8. Chapter 8

It has been two years since you left your small college town to start hunting. Over time you have become an amazing hunter. Each movement graceful as a dance. But you were still tied down to your happy pills, and because of this the other hunters you have meet don’t take you seriously. Every single one of them underestimates you and your determination to feed your addiction. No matter how good you get, many hunters see the bag of pills and the petite build and start placing bets on how much longer you will be alive. Everyone except for Bobby Singer.

                Bobby takes you seriously. When you call he talks to you like an old friend, even though you have only met him in person twice. He helps you on cases, gets you out of tight situations with the law, and everything else he provides the other hunters. But then he asks about you, and wants to catch up in the little time he has. Heck you even called him after a couple breakdowns and he stayed on the phone until you were calm enough to hang up or tired enough to fall asleep. That’s also why when you asked for backup for a vampire nest in Milwaukee, Wisconsin he sent his two best hunters to help.

                As soon as you saw the black Impala rolling into the motel parking lot you groaned. Well this should be interesting, you thought. You patiently sat back on the stiff queen bed and waited for the knock on the door. When it came you shot up from your position and swung the door open, maybe a little too fast. The brothers looked like they had seen a ghost. Eyes wide, face blanched, the whole nine. The first one to stutter out a hello was Sam. And then came Dean.

                “What the hell do you think you’re doing here!” he screamed. You flinch back from the sudden volume but overall you fight to keep your composure.

                “Working” you mumble out feeling like that mouse of a girl who the Winchesters first met.

                “Like hell,” Dean bellowed, “you are going to get in your car and drive back to your little college town and get your degree in whatever.”

                “I dropped out” slipped past your lips and you looked down as if you were ashamed of the fact. When in reality you really didn’t care, but something about Dean yelling at you made your newly gained confidence shrivel up and die. Your eyes shifted from your sneaker clad feet to Sam and back down. He looked just as enraged as Dean but unable to throw in his opinion as Dean kept on going.

                “We told you when we left that you had to stop.” He fumed. “You promised us that you would stop. But no, you decide to go throw your life away. Do you want to screw yourself up that bad that you would get into hunting. We told you there was no getting out. And yet here you are ready to sign away your life. You do know that it always ends bloody right? You can never have someone close to you without putting them in danger. You are going to put yourself through general crap for what? Why are you even hunting? You had it good. A house an education, everything you could ever want. Why in the hell would you ever want to throw that all away?”

                “Because I like it” you started, “I like the feeling of power that hunting gives me” you mumbled.

                “What?” he questioned, squinting his eyes at you as his mouth turns up a little. Sam pulling one of his faces and tilting his head towards you.

                “I like it” you repeat even louder, “I love it.”

                “I don’t know whether to knock some sense into you, or give you to a mental hospital” Dean replies.

                Sam looks at Dean and back at you. “Dean give her a break, she probably is new at this. You remember you used to like the job too at one point.”

                Dean looked defeated and he backed away, taking a swinging step back.

                “Although I understand your motives you can’t come with us tomorrow” Sam reasoned. He looked at you with a touch of pity in his eyes, and the confidence that you thought had shriveled during this argument came back with full force.

                “You can’t do that!” you screamed. “I need to go hunt tomorrow. You can’t take that away from me! I deserve to take on that nest. I tracked them all the way from southern New Mexico. Do you know how long that took me, months! I did not waste all of that time for tweedle-dee and tweedle-dumb to take that away from me!” Your shrill voice filled the room. Your hand started flailing of their own accord and the muscles in your throat strained to keep the volume.

                Sam held up his hands as he and Dean backed up a little. The shock returning to their faces. I guess you’re not the only one surprised that you flipped your lid. But there was no backing down now. They couldn’t take this hunt from you. Your skin had been crawling for the last couple days in need of its next fix.

                “I understand that it took a lot of work to track them. But tracking and killing are two different things here.” Sam explained. As if you didn’t know, the only reason you called for backup is because Bobby told you that if a nest was over six you were obligated to call him for backup. I you had it your way you would horde all of the kills for yourself.

                Dean started to walk back to you and you raised your hand up defensively. He raised his in surrender.

                “We just don’t want you to get hurt. Last time was enough on our conscience.” He explained. And you started laughing as if that was the funniest thing you had ever heard.

                “How long do you think I have been doing this exactly” you laughed, “I have been at this for two years boys, I think I can handle myself.”

                “Sure you can, but not with a whole nest of vamps” Dean objected. His head shook, and he glanced back to Sam as if asking for back-up. Sam stepped forward with him and started to nod his head.

                “You better leave this one to us.” Sam agreed. You glared straight at him and you swore you could see him flinch back. Well that’s impressive.

                “I am going whether you knuckle heads get in my way or not” you stated and violently sat down on the bed. You threw down the metaphorical microphone and you were not going to argue anymore. The other hunters realized this and seemed to accept defeat, even if it was with reluctance.

                “You stay behind us then” Sam commanded. You nodded your head but you planned on showing off tomorrow. If the Winchesters were going to underestimate you like the rest of the world they were going to get a rude wake up call.

                The boys left your little motel room in order to go to theirs and get ready for the hunt tomorrow. Sam told you that you guys would wake up early tomorrow to plan out the hunt in their room, as he was walking out the door. You waved as he shut the door and triumphantly sat back on your bed. You were going to blow the Winchester’s minds.


	9. Chapter9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning at the end

The adrenaline pumping through your veins with every swing of your blade builds. Your muscles expand and contract in rhythm to a song that no one else can hear. Blood and spit fly through the air and you are not sure which is yours and which is the vampires whose heads are rolling away. You can faintly hear the shuffling of feet behind you and the grunts of the Winchesters fighting their own battles behind you, but you don’t care. Right now you are in too much of a high to care about anything other than the power clogging your arteries.

                When the last vampire falls, the last swing of your blade, you exhale in a huff and turn to face the boys covered from head to toe in blood and gore. The high of the fight making light seem extra bright and smells more pungent. You feel alive.

                “You all right there boys?” drips out of your mouth in the most offensive way possible. You start to giggle and stretch, smiling from ear to ear. All they do is stare. You saunter out of the living room of the vampire nest and into the kitchen to wash up, don’t want any weird reactions from the civilians. And when you come back to the boys they are whispering to each other, until you come within ear shot.

                “Can I possibly hitch a ride from you two by any chance?” you ask, trying to stay casual and hopefully break the awkward tension radiating from the brothers. Unfortunately it doesn’t work, and the tension is still palpable in the car on the way back to your motel room.

                Luckily it isn’t you that has to break the silence. “What happened to you?” Sam mutters, almost as if he doesn’t want to hear the answer.

                “A lot has changed in the past 2 years” you sigh, and turn your head to look at the window and watch the houses pass by and then fade into stores and shopping malls.

                When the car reaches the motel you quickly exit with a polite thank you to Dean and start walking away without so much as a ‘good-bye.’ You know you will see them again whether it is the next few minutes or the next couple of months your paths will inevitably cross. Almost as if it is supernatural.

 

* * *

 

                Over the next year you and the boys frequently bump into each other, well at least in hunter standards. Every couple of months or so you and the boys will sniff out the same case and end up working together. Which is the opposite of a bad thing. You like the Winchesters. Dean is fun to go out with, to bars, parks, investigating, even the movies once. Sam is more fun to stay in with, making homemade pizza, marathoning _The Walking Dead,_ or just sitting around talking. Soon they become a staple in your life.

                Even though you have gotten so close to them, you still don’t let them see _that_ side of you. The side of you that still has multiple medications to keep it in check. That no matter how many hunts you go on or how many beers you drink, you still can’t hold it back. Those nights when all you can do is curl up on your cheap motel bed and pray for it to stop, or for death depending on the situation.

Tonight was one such night. The room was too dark, the bed too itchy, and everything seemed to be closing in on you. Your breath was heavy and your mind running in circles. You were picturing every little thing that could jump out of that dark abyss and kill you without any effort on their part. Your eyes were glazed over as you curled in on yourself in the corner of the bed, nails digging into your palms. You didn’t even notice another person in the room until Dean’s rough hands were pulling hair from your face. It was at this point that your brain decides to turn itself off and reboot, pulling your eyes into blackness.   

When you opened your eyes again you were greeted by plaid and the feeling of fingers running through your hair. Sitting up you realize that the boys had positioned yourself and them on the bed so that your head was lying on Deans chest and your feet were entangled with Sam’s.

“Hey there sleepy head, you feeling OK?” Sam whispers his face only showing his concern for you.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” You ask not remembering when the boys came into your room last night.

“You scared the crap out of us girl,” Dean replied, “I thought you were dying at first, and then you passed out and I almost called an ambulance.” Dean looked panicked as he remembered the apparent happenings of last night. It’s at this point that you realize that they must have seen _it._ Well, shit.

You look down at the comforter and rub the back of your neck. The muscles in your back burn from being stiff all night and your head begins to pound. You promise the boys and explanation as you escape to the bathroom. Your hands shaking as you pop in some pills and extra Advil to kill the headache. Looking in the mirror your face is streaked with tears and your hair is ratted up on one side. The left over make up from yesterday has grown a pimple on your cheek and the bags under your eyes are blotchy and bigger than usual. You look like a freaking model. Taking a deep breath you walk out of the bathroom trying to mentally prepare yourself for this conversation.

Dean and Sam both watch you as you place yourself on the bed at the head rest and prop yourself up with the mountain of pillows resting there. They both look expectant, Sam with his head cocked slightly and Dean with a determined face, ready to give you his full attention. So you start talking.

“It started when I was young, I was the youngest sibling out of three. My older brother was in the race for valedictorian, and my older sister was captain of her junior high volley ball team. I was a small girl with no special skills what-so-ever, but my parents were determined to find me something I was excellent at. It started with soccer, but I liked playing in the dirt better, then softball which had the same problem. Then it was on to music, I tried piano, guitar, flute, saxophone, ballet, singing, jazz, hip-hop, but I was never really exceptionally good at anything. It was probably during this that my anxiety started. Eventually my parents gave up on me, I went from constantly having ten million things to do, to basically providing for myself. My parents loved me yes, but since I didn’t really have something they could constantly push me to do they drifted away. As soon as my sister moved out, they pretty much up and left. Always another vacation or business trip. I grew depressed and lonely, I was 15 and was living pretty much on my own. After one of my parent’s trips my mother thought there was something off about me so she took me to a doctor, who then prescribed me medication in order to help. However it only got worse and worse, until I was admitted to a hospital to keep myself alive. After I got out things got better and I moved out and went to college, and you guys know the rest.” It all slipped out, at least it was the cliff notes version.

The boys both are silent, Sam has pity in his eyes and Dean is looking away at the floor. It stays quiet for a couple of minutes until Dean walks out of the room and Sam stands up not sure if he should follow his brother or stay with you. In the end he sits back down and wraps you in a hug and you stay like that, until your stomach reminds you that it is time for breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Slight mentions of suicide


End file.
